The Dragon's Tears
by eliana-moran
Summary: If Draco Malfoy has a weakness, it's tears. So what happens when he finds Ginevra Weasley crying without anyone to comfort her?
1. Prologue

If Draco Malfoy had a weakness it was the tears of a woman. Oddly enough, that was one of the reasons everyone was convinced he was heartless. If some poor girl started crying in his presence he simply walked away. It wasn't because he didn't care as everyone assumed, no, he simply needed to leave before she asked for so much as a glass of water and the things girls asked for when distraught were rarely so simple. You see, he knew that if she asked for the moon he would break his back trying to get it for her.

Most of this was due to his mother, or rather, his father. Their marriage had been arranged and her one comfort was her son. Draco's earliest memory was trying to make his mother smile after his father had made her cry.

His mother was the one person to whom he showed his human side, as she called it. He himself had received plenty of pain at his father's hand, both physical and emotional. The last thing he could do was let someone see how much. Perhaps there was nothing he wanted more than to find solace in the sympathy and compassion of another, but there was nothing more dangerous. He needed to be strong for his mother's sake and to stand up to his father. If he let his defenses down, even privately, to himself, it would weaken his resolve before his father and his composure before his mother, and he needed all the resolve he could muster to concentrate his father's attentions on himself and all of the composure he could gather to convince his mother it would be all right.

If the world thought he was as cruel and hard as his father it was because he had to be to survive. He had to keep people at a distance and the easiest way to do that was to offend them. If he felt resentment and hatred for those around him it was because he envied what they had, even his housemates whose parents were by no means model for they were only overlooked, ignored, or at the worst labored with impossible expectations, and didn't believe they were properly grateful for what the fates had blessed them with. Thus his seemingly inexplicable hatred for the Weasel and the bloody chosen one.

One thing, however, never failed to pierce his armor and find him where he truly lived, where he truly felt. The tears of a woman, particularly those provoked by an unworthy git on whom she had bestowed her naïve hopes. Perhaps that is why he was powerless to stop the rampaging chain of events that turned his world upside down.

Ginevra Weasley rarely cried. What was the point? It only gave her a headache. Maybe if it actually made her feel better she would indulge, but she knew it wouldn't. She always felt as bad after as before.

Maybe that was why she was so good at comforting others. She really couldn't say what drove her to dry the tears of others. All she knew was that she was apparently good at it. Even the older girls came to her when they had their hearts broken. Somehow she always knew the right thing to say and the right thing to do to make them feel better and encourage them not to give up.

Oddly enough, that was why she never had anyone to turn to herself. Apparently, according to what the others seemed to believe, it is impossible to help another through their pain if you need help getting through your own. As a result, everyone to whom she might have considered turning were loathe to recognize her need.

She wasn't complaining, or at least, she tried not to. It wasn't like she really wanted someone to confide in. To her way of thinking, there was nothing scarier than opening yourself up to another when you were at your most vulnerable. It was hard enough to lay your heart out there, to trust it to another, when it was whole. The idea of doing so when it was battered, bruised, and broken was almost unimaginable.

Her experience the first year she attended school may have played a role in developing this closeness of hers or it may have simply been who she was all along, even she couldn't tell you. All she could tell you with any amount of certainty was that she hated to let other people see her cry. She couldn't even tell you whether it was because she didn't want them to see her at her weakest or simply wanted to avoid the questions. Whatever the reason, it also began a rampaging chain of events that would have unforeseen results.


	2. Chapter 1

a/n: i forgot to mention this before the prologue. this story is a/u. it occurs post hbp but ignores the draco story line. it is also complete and will have five chapters.

* * *

Harry had pitched her. He had told her that they couldn't be together. He had told her it was for her own good, her own safety. He had said it would be too dangerous for her to be important to him, that she would be used as leverage against him. He had _not_ asked her whether or not it was a risk she was willing to take. He had _not_ given her a choice in the matter.

She thought he was a fool. She thought he needed as many people around him as possible. She thought he could have at least mentioned the possibility that they would get back together when it was all over, but he had not, he had simply said it was over.

She had to get away. Everyone was crying about Dumbledore's death. She knew she would have been rather upset about herself if someone idiot hadn't superceded that pain with one more acute. As it was, if she remained in the crowd any longer she would be caught up in drying as many tears as possible, in reassuring as many people as possible, and in being as strong as possible for the ridiculous number of people that turned to her for everything.

She wanted to cry. No, she _had_ to cry. If she had any say in the matter no tears would fall, but as it was they were falling anyway and she had to escape before someone noticed. The only place to go and be sure that no one would find her was the astronomy tower, the one from which Dumbledore had fallen. No one would go up there, of that she was certain.

Once she made it to the top, she settled herself on one of the large windowsills, curled her knees up to her chest, hugged them, and let the tears fall freely, crying as she had not cried in years. She was crying for more than the heart Harry had broken. She was crying because no one had followed her, even though she would have told them to leave her alone if they had it still would have been nice to know someone cared. She was crying because she was worried about Harry, more worried than she was hurt. She was crying because she missed Dumbledore. She was crying because she _did_ want someone to dry her tears, someone _she_ could lean on, and she knew they would have to get close to her against all of her objections and attempts to push him away. She had hoped Harry would make it through her defenses. Well, at least he wasn't giving up because of them, but she knew he probably would have if he had only stayed long enough to reach them. Who _would_ be fool enough to pursue someone who, from all appearances, did _not_ was to be found?

That was where and how Draco found her. He all but erupted into curses when he saw her there, sitting on the sill, crying like there was no end to sorrow. He had come up here to _escape_ all the tears. He had come up here before he went insane with the desire to do something, anything, to make them stop. He tried to turn around and leave her alone as she so obviously wanted to be, but he couldn't move. It occurred to him that he had never seen her cry. He thought he had seen every girl in school cry publicly at least once, even Granger, but now he realized that the little Weasel had never shed a tear for others to see. The more he thought about it he began to recall her sitting beside almost every bawling girl and slowly easing the deluge, even some of the Slytherin house calmed through her ministrations. It also occurred to him that she possessed the same quiet strength his mother did, though it didn't always remain quiet. She always seemed to know what needed to be done and how to do it and more often than not the other students followed her lead, when she stepped up to take it, that is. Suddenly he realized that she had come up here to prevent others from seeing her cry, to preserve herself from their half-assed attempts to comfort her. She had come up here to hide her pain, to protect herself while she was vulnerable.

He remembered his mother's attempts to hide from him when she cried, trying to protect him from her pain. He remembered his mother's attempts to endure the pain on her own and knew that, no matter how much she tried to convince him that she could, pain had a way of destroying people if it wasn't shared. Hell, he was proof enough of that, wasn't he? He couldn't let Ginevra Weasley become like him; he couldn't let her defenses turn her cold and bitter. He had to find a way to dry her tears, but he had to find a way to do so without letting her know that he needed someone as badly as she did.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, he decided that, even though it was a bad idea, it was the one chance he had. If he could distract from her pain, replace it with indignation…it was the best he could do.

Mustering the most contemptuous tone he could, he added a hint of disbelief and called out, "Weasley?"

She jerked her head up and glared at him, not bothering to hide or wipe away her tears. She didn't say anything, just glared.

He mentally squared his shoulders against that look. He didn't know that she would have given anyone the same response and he couldn't prevent the desire to be honest with her, anything to clear her dark expression. Subconsciously strengthening his own defenses, he demanded, "What the hell are you doing here?"

She did not appreciate the interruption and was in no mood to deal with the Ferret. "Crying," she answered darkly.

He rolled his eyes, "I can see that, but why aren't you with you _boyfriend_? Aren't girls supposed to _revel_ in crying on their boyfriends' shoulders?" He winced at his own harshness. At least there was no reason to fear she would think he cared.

She clenched her jaw and her eyes flashed, but was it from pain or anger? "I wouldn't know what girls are _supposed_ to feel, but don't you have to have a boyfriend in order to have a boyfriend's shoulder to cry on?" She wasn't about to show him mercy even though there was no way he could have known Harry had pitched her, but…that couldn't be regret in his eyes, could it?

How was he supposed to know Potter had pitched her? He tried not to let regret for what he had said reach his eyes and decided there was no out but to press the nerve he had found. "Finally develop some sense and pitch the git?" he asked cruelly.

She hadn't moved and continued to fix him in an unrelenting stare. Pure loathing seethed up and eclipsed any curiosity about the depths he hid. "Yes," she bit out sarcastically, "I'm up here crying my eyes out because _I_ pitched _him_."

He sneered to hide his wince at the pain in her voice. Genuine curiosity broke through and he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Why do girls waste tears on prats who are thick enough to fuck up a good thing?"

Disbelief crossed her features. Could he possibly be calling her a good thing?

He realized too late that he had just insinuated that he believed she was a good thing.

She still didn't move, but an odd curiosity began to underlie her pain and ire. "We cry," she began to explain, "because, once you've trusted someone not to hurt you and they do, it is too late to deny them the ability. To do so is to live in denial."

He waved off her explanation as so much absurdity. "It seems that you should count yourselves lucky to be free from any prick who would abuse that which has been so naively trusted to him."

"Yeah," she agreed with him, "and sometimes we do, but that doesn't instantly end the pain. It may speed the healing, but there is still a wound to be healed." She mentally shook herself and demanded, "What the hell do you care whether or not we cry anyway? You always leave the room when tears start to fall, whether you caused them or not."

He clenched his jaw against the truth of how many tears _had_ been his fault over the years. He sneered in an effort to regain control. "I don't _care_. I simply find it disgusting the way girls fall for wanks who could never dream of deserving them and then pine for them once they have revealed their true colors, accepting them back more often than not."

She tensed with the effort not to stand and intensify the confrontation. "We fall for who we fall for. There is no explanation, as likely as not, for why we are attracted to certain _wanks_ as you call them, and we pine for them because…fuck it. When you love someone, if it's real, and sometimes when it isn't, you are willing to forgive them, allow them another chance, because you realize that everyone makes mistakes, even me, even you."

He tried to sound like he thought she was a fool rather than honestly curious and oddly hopeful, "Maybe, but a mistake that hurts someone's feeling is one thing, a mistake that breaks her heart is something else entirely."

"In order to have your heart broken," she sounded like she was explaining something she couldn't believe it was necessary to explain, "you must first relinquish control of it and once you've done that… well, you don't have control, do you?"

He growled in frustration. This debate was getting ridiculous and would probably end up exposing his own rather fragile heart. "That's my point! Why trust someone with it before you know whether or not they're trustworthy?"

"And how," she demanded, once again getting angry, "are we supposed to know if you're trustworthy if you've never been given the chance to prove yourselves?"

It was his turn to sound like he was speaking to an idiot, "You trust them with a little before you trust them with all."

She was beginning to pick up on the fact that while she included herself as part of the feminine population she was defending he was not including himself in the masculine population he was condemning. "When you fall for someone you trust them with your heart. You trust them to protect it and care for it. You give them the ability to break it. Once it's been broken you have a choice. You can reclaim it, put it back together yourself, and then decide whether to take that risk with someone else or not, or you can leave it where it is, hoping he will realize his mistake and put it back together himself. When you do that, however, you also give him the opportunity to walk on the pieces as he goes about his life. It's the same with family. It's the same with friends. Anyone you trust, anyone you love, has the power to hurt you and the only way to make any advances in any relationship is to trust more than you've been given reason to. Just because you have fun with someone on occasion doesn't mean he'd be a good friend, just because someone is a good friend doesn't mean he'll be a good lover, and just because someone is a good lover doesn't mean he will be forever. There are no assurances in love and everyone plays the fool, but a wise man knows being foolish once or twice does not make you a fool. A courageous man knows that without fear there is no bravery. A strong man knows that without pain there is no pleasure. A content man knows that without grief there is no joy. Girls allow blokes to hurt them, to make them cry, because we hope that they won't, and you'll find, if you ask them, that blokes experience just as much heartache for the same reason."

She was prying to deeply into his eyes for any amount of comfort.

"If you care so little for the tears and pain for another," she asked, "and none at all for me, why didn't you simply leave when you saw me here?"

He couldn't believe his luck, she had provided him with the perfect opportunity to remind her he was a soulless prick. He answered as coldly as he could, "I had hoped to drive you off so I could have the tower to myself."

Her blood boiled. She finally stood and walked toward him. "Congratulations, the tower is yours," she bit out. "Thank you for making a bad day worse," she added as she pushed passed him to the trap door and the ladder down. She spun around when she heard his voice again.

He didn't know what made him say it and he wished with every fiber of being that he hadn't, but for some reason, before he could think, he had said under his breath, "You aren't crying anymore."

She didn't know whether that meant he had known how much she hated to cry or if it simply meant that _he_ hated to _see_ her cry, but there was no denying it meant at least one of the possibilities. That meant that he had purposefully distracted her from that which was making her cry. He had purposefully made her angry and defensive so she would stop feeling hurt and alone. "Unbelievable," was all she said.

He just stood there, unsure of what to do. Something told him that nothing he said now would convince her he hadn't cared whether she cried or not and so he simply waited to see how she would react when she recovered from her shock.

She took a couple of steps back so that she was standing just in front of him with barely a hand's distance separating them.

He flushed.

She noticed a faint white scar across his cheek. It ran from the outside toward his nose. It looked for all the world like he had been backhanded and a ring had broken the easily scarred skin of his face. She reached up and almost traced it but stopped at the last moment, catching herself just before she touched him. Lowering her hand, she stated more than asked, "You protect your mother, don't you?"

He almost closed his eyes as he felt her hand lift to his face and balled his fists at his side when she pulled back. Something in him had wanted her to trace that old scare his father had given him. It was probably the oldest mark he had from his father's cruelty. He didn't know what process had led her to her conclusion, but his response was barely heard and he answered in a gruff and defensive tone, "Someone has to."

"The strong can't take chances," she was speaking more to herself than to him, "they couldn't indulge in weakness even when if it was safe, even if there was someone strong enough to be _their_ strength. No, they have to stand on their own even after their back has broken under the weight." Her eyes were clouding over again, but she wouldn't let herself cry. For once, she held back her tears to protect another, rather than herself. She had come to her conclusion, that he was strong for his mother, because of the way he looked at her, because of the way he seemed to fear anyone knowing that his heart beat like everyone else's, because his fear of being found, his desperation to hide, had the appearance of one hiding another, of personal sacrifice. She knew too well what it was like to be strong for another at the expense of your own heart. Hadn't she told Harry she understood? Hadn't she long ago convinced her family that she was fine? Her experience in the Chamber of Secrets had them all so scared she had needed to convince them she was fine to calm _their_ fears regarding her. When she woke up from a nightmare she stifled her scream and kept it to herself rather than worry them.

He looked at her questioningly. Was it possible she understood? No! He couldn't hope. It would be too dangerous if he even _hoped_ that she understood, that she would be able to comfort him without first requiring him to break down. He pushed past her in a hurry to leave her presence.

She grabbed his arm to stop him. When he turned his head back she caught his eye and held it too. "Draco," she said softly but firmly, "you don't have to cry to know the shoulder's there and you don't have to fall to know someone will catch you."

Again, he acted without thinking. Her words had an effect he could not understand, whether he could accept them or not. Before he knew he was moving he felt her hair against his hand as he grabbed the back of her neck and before he had regained control he had pulled her into the first kiss he had ever cared about. What surprised him more than his actions, though, was when she did not pull away.


	3. Chapter 2

She was sitting on her brother's bed as he was throwing a few things in a bag. Bill had just left on his honeymoon with Fluer and Ron was getting ready to leave with Harry and Hermione on their search for horcruxes. None of them had told her what they were doing, but somehow she had found anyway.

Harry and Hermione were downstairs helping clean up after the wedding, both being ready to leave, and Ron had pulled Ginny with him upstairs so they could talk.

"So," he asked, "are you okay?" He tried to downplay the concern in his voice because he knew his sister didn't respond well to overly interested personal inquiries. He had grown up a lot in the past couple of months and had come to realize what an intelligent and strong witch his little sister was. He really wished Harry could see how capable she was and how idiotic it had been for him to leave her.

She shrugged. "Yeah, it hurts, but I'll heal." She fidgeted with a tassel on his blanket. She really appreciated the way he had been acting lately, respectful rather than overbearing.

He turned to look at her. "Gin," he began, "I don't really know whether…"

She smiled weakly. "I know, Ron, it's okay too. A lot of things are about to happen and I'm none too sure myself that it would be wise for us to get back together when it's all over." She couldn't help but think of Draco. The kiss had been so unexpected she had been too shocked at first to pull away and by the time she had recovered from the shock she was lost in the feel. No one had ever kissed her like that, not even her first kiss with Harry had been so…so…real. The amount of raw emotion Draco had expressed in that one kiss…it had only lasted a few seconds, really, but she felt more appreciated, more _needed_, that she had ever felt before. Oddly enough, she had also felt _safer_ in his arms than could recall. Not even her memories of being a little girl curled up in her father's lap touched her the way Draco's embrace had.

Ron nodded silently and returned to his bag, folding another shirt to stuff into it. "So, do you have any plans to keep you busy while we're gone?"

She took deep breath. She had decided to tell Ron the truth, now, and just hope he would listen. "I plan on helping Draco."

He spun around and stared at her. "Malfoy?" he asked incredulously.

She nodded.

"Help him what?" he asked, trying not to get worked up.

She was grateful for his patience. Resituating herself, she answered, "He's alone, Ron, and has a hard life to deal with. He needs someone to be there for him. Maybe, just maybe, if I'm careful I can help him…I don't know…live I guess."

He sat down on the bed beside her. Looking at her intently, he said gently, "Gin, this is Malfoy we're talking about, the coldest sod to attend Hogwarts since his father. Are you sure you want to risk it? I mean, I know you. Once you set your heart on something you go for it, and if he doesn't respond, or worse, you're going to be devastated. How can you be so sure he isn't what he appears to be?"

She sighed. Very slowly and very carefully she explained what had happened up in the tower and held her breath while she waited for Ron to respond.

He thought about it for a moment before clenching his jaw. Reaching out to touch his sister on the arm, he finally found the words to say, "If you trust him enough to step out like this I guess I won't try to stop you. Just…if he hurts you I get to hurt him, okay?"

She laughed, "Sure, as long as you accept him if he accepts me."

He nodded before getting up to finish packing.

The next year went by slowly. Some days it felt like she took one step forward with Draco only to take two steps back. Other days it felt like she managed to take two steps forward and only slide back one. He resisted her at every opportunity, but couldn't deny that her efforts to get close to him _did_ make life easier to bear. She was right, he didn't have to turn to her to reap the benefits of having her there if ever decided to.

Looking back, she supposed it only made sense that her real success came only when she wanted nothing more than to avoid him. She had gotten a letter from Hermione informing with all possible regrets that a letter can hold that Ron had been killed. It also contained unending apologies, but asked if she could break the news to her family. Neither Harry nor Hermione really felt comfortable doing, especially in such an impersonal manner.

After reading the letter about ten times at breakfast just to make sure she wasn't having a nightmare, she got up and left the castle. She simply couldn't face classes that day and once it was known why she was sure she would be excused. She just walked aimlessly, completely unaware of where her feet were taking her, until she just fell to her knees in tears. She had no idea where she was and therefore found it incredibly cruel that Draco should be able to find her.

He knelt beside her and asked her what was wrong. He couldn't even pretend not to care this time, not after all the subtle help she had provided him with over the past months.

She couldn't look at him. Why didn't he understand that she wanted to be alone? Her voice was harsh with tears and suppressed anger as she bit out, "Just leave me the hell alone, would you?"

"Right," he said more bitterly than he would have liked, "because that's what you've been doing with me all year."

Her head snapped up to face him. Her eyes were flashing dangerously. "I never asked questions. I never _pushed_.

Anger filled his own eyes. "No! You just waited, and waited, and waited! You made it very plain that you wanted answers and did you damnedest to coax me into opening up on my own."

She laughed bitterly. "Am I supposed to believe you _wanted_ me to ask? That you would have _answered?_"

He clenched his jaw and tried to calm himself down. "What answers do you need that you couldn't figure out on your own? My father abuses us and I do I everything within my power to take as much as his shit as possible so my mother won't have to. I shut everyone out so I won't find myself wishing you were there when I need you most, when my father is around. I despise anyone who has everything and throws it away, or worse, takes it for granted. How much of that did you _not_ know? Exactly _how_ does it benefit you to hear it in words? Fuck you! How the hell would it benefit anyone for me to provide any bloody details?" He stood up and stared down at her. "You spend a year trying to get under my skin, trying to convince me I'm not alone. How the hell am I supposed to believe that if _you_ shut _me_ out? Damn, Ginevra, if you aren't willing to rely on someone else, to trust them to help you through the hard times, how the hell can you expect _me_ to do so at your behest?"

"My bloody fucking moron of a brother got himself killed!" she screamed up at him before scrambling to her feet, "and those bloody great friends of his can't bring themselves to tell my family via an impersonal letter so they tell _me_ that way and have the _balls_ to ask _me_ to tell the rest of my family _for_ them!" She was breathing hard. "I'm the fucking strong one! I hold everyone around when they're down! I catch them all when they fall! Damn, Draco, how the hell am I supposed to turn to anyone for help when the people who are supposed to know best think _this_," she shook the letter in his face, "is OKAY?!

He didn't say anything, he just grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close. She just stood there, stiff, for a moment and he was beginning to wonder whether he should let her go, when she reached up, twisted her hands into his cloak, and began to cry stormily against him.

Once the flow of tears slowed, he whispered, "It isn't okay, but I'll be there with you when you tell your family and I'll be here with you whenever you need me."

She nodded mutely.

As they walked back to the castle, he began to muse aloud, "I push people away because it's too dangerous to let them close, because I can't risk allowing myself to rely on someone else's strength. It makes sense that I'm left alone to deal with life as best I can. What I don't understand is why you, who are strong for everyone, find yourself alone. I would think there would be people lining up to repay you for your kindness."

She sighed and shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe that's what you would do, have done, because you understand what it is to _truly_ bear something alone. Most people think that if I'm strong enough to help them with their problems than I can't possibly need any help with my own. Others think that if I _did_ need help with my own I would no longer be able to help them."

"That's absurd," he said, stopping to stare at her. "You can't be serious!"

She held up the letter again. "Believe me, I am."

He placed an arm around her possessively and resumed their walk. "Tell me, honestly," he began with incredible insight drawn from her last expression, "if they _were_ willing to help, _would_ you let them close to you? _Would_ you trust them to help you?"

She leaned in to him. "No, honestly I wouldn't. Like you," she explained, "I keep people at a distance for my own protection. I, however, do so because I've been broken too many times, rather than in an attempt to keep myself together."

Once again he stopped to look at her. "How many times have you been broken?" The deep concern in his voice and in his eyes made her uncomfortable again.

"I don't know," she said carefully. She sighed when he gave her a piercing look that said he wasn't satisfied. "Bill was my best friend when I was really little, he was old enough and mature enough to actually enjoy playing with his little sister. Then he moved away and I was left all alone. I'm not sure whether Ron started paying attention to me because he saw how lonely I was without Bill or if he turned to me because he couldn't tag along after the twins if they were in school, but during their first year _we_ became close. Then _he_ went to school and became friends with Harry and forgot all about me again. The next year I met Tom," she winced, "and he made the loss of Bill and Ron together look like a paper cut compared to the damage he did. Then I had to convince everyone I was okay because whenever I tried to talk about how I felt or what I dreamed I could see how nervous and worried it made everyone and I felt truly alone. After that it was a few years before I tried trusting someone to be there for me again, and, well, he pitched me to go save the world alone. Oddly enough, that decision brought Ron back into my life as the brother I had once thought he was going to be all along and now…" her voice trailed off. "So I guess," she started counting in her head, "you could say I've been broken…five times." She was trying to sound indifferent and turned to walk again.

"I guess other people don't have it as great as I thought," he said morosely as he followed her.

"No," she said, "we do. For that matter, so do you." She never would have dared say something like this before, but considering all that had just taken place she felt she was well within her rights. "Even your life could be worse. Your mother might be as bad as your father." She waited tensely for his response.

He considered her words for a moment. Finally, he replied, "I never thought of it that way. You know," he said, looking at her with a genuine smile, "I once heard it said that without pain there can be no joy. I figure there's truth in that observation."


	4. Chapter 3

Draco _was_ there when she told her family the news about Ron and she honestly believed that if it hadn't been for his hand on her shoulder she never would have survived.

Another month passed and they were truly friends. They never really confided in each other, at least not the way they had that day. Neither really cared to spell out of the pain and since they now had someone to whom the _could, _the desire no long arose.

They had only kissed that once, but Ginny couldn't help but notice the possessive way he looked at her and the protective way he would put his arm around her. She liked it. She just wished he would _do_ something or _say _something. She wondered if he was afraid to. She wondered if he was afraid of how she would react.

They never spoke of Harry, but Draco was certain Ginny was waiting for him. Even if she wasn't, he couldn't imagine why Potter wouldn't want her back once he returned and she seemed the type to forgive idiocy and he figured she would take him back after some well deserved chiding. He didn't want to do anything to hurt her. He didn't want to make her feel guilty for returning to Potter so he did everything he could to hide his feelings from her, but even he knew he was failing.

Finally the day came when the war was over. They got news at the school that Voldemort was dead once and for all and Potter was returning. Draco's mood became very dark and he avoided Ginny for the rest of the day. She couldn't understand what had gotten in to him, well, at least she _tried_ not to. She had a nagging feeling, however, that his reluctance to speak for her was coming home the next day.

She couldn't help it. When Harry walked through the doors to the Great Hall, she jumped up from her seat next to a scowling Draco and ran across the room. She nearly knocked Harry down with the force of her hug. He picked her feet up off the floor and swung her around a few times. Setting her back down he released her so she could hug Hermione. They both started crying and expressing condolences to each other and then started laughing in spite of themselves. It was day of mixed emotions.

Their reunion was interrupted when Draco stalked past them and Ginny just stared after him, obviously about to cry again.

She turned her head when she felt Harry's hand on her shoulder. "Ron told us about him," he explained. Then he asked softly, "What's going on?"

She shook her head, "I'll explain later. Right now you must be starving!" She pasted a brave smile on her face and dragged him to the Gryffindor table. They talked for the rest of the morning, classes having been cancelled due to the chaotic celebrations taking place. Harry and Hermione told her all about their adventures, including a somber relation of Ron's gallant death. He had sacrificed himself for the others as they retrieved the last horcrux.

Finally it was late at night and they were the last ones sitting around the Gryffindor fire. "All right, Gin," Harry turned to look at her with a serious expression, "what's going on with Malfoy?"

She sighed and brought her knees up to her chest. "I'm in love with him and he thinks I'm still in love with you so he won't _let_ himself be in love with me. Or," she hesitated, "that what I _think_ is going on." She then proceeded to tell them all that had happened in the past year, starting with the first night he found her crying and including the kiss.

"Yeah," Hermione said at length, "that's what it _sounds_ like is going on." She looked over at Harry with an expression that Ginny found difficult to read.

She figured it out, though, when Harry turned to look at her with relief in his eyes. She smiled at him. "You're relieved, aren't you, that I haven't been at home, pining for you and waiting for you to return?"

She was teasing him and he couldn't help but laugh. He tossed a pillow at her in revenge. "Yeah, I have to admit I am."

Sobering up, Ginny looked at Hermione. "I don't want to be insensitive, but I thought…"

Hermione interrupted her, "I _was_ in love with your brother. I always will be, to some degree. It's just that…well…right before Ron disappeared from sight he shouted back at Harry to take care of me."

"I determined to do as he asked," Harry picked up the story, "not that I wouldn't have looked after her anyway, as a friend."

"I guess," Hermione continued the narrative, "that everything we went through after that, all the nights we spent together huddled in the dark, just the two of us…well…Harry became I had anymore."

"And she," Harry looked over at Hermione, "was all _I_ had."

"Well," Ginny leaned over to give Hermione a hug, "I'm sure this is what Ron would have wanted. If he couldn't take care of you, there is no one else he would trust with the job than Harry. And I _know_ he would want both of you to be as happy as possible, and if that means you're together…I'm sure that if he knew he'd be happy for you."

Hermione's eyes welled up and she hugged Ginny again. Harry's throat tightened, but he managed to say, "Thanks, Gin. I wouldn't have believed it from anyone else, especially not myself."

The next morning, Draco was not at Breakfast. Ginny looked for him all morning but didn't find him until late in the afternoon. She caught him in the Entrance Hall as he was trying to sneak back in and down to his dorm.

"Draco!" she called out, "wait!" She ran across the hall toward him.

He tensed. He didn't really have a choice, so he stopped walking. He did _not_, however, turn around. He really didn't want to have this conversation. He did _not_ want to hear how happy she was with Potter. He would not have stopped if he had not known that she would have chased him all the way to his common room.

"Draco!" she exclaimed softly as she reached out and touched his arm, "Draco, why are you avoiding me?"

He turned around so quickly she took a step back. "You don't know?"

He felt knots wrench into his shoulders at the pain that crossed her face. "I had hoped…" she started. She shook her head and started again. "Draco, won't you at least listen to me?"

He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened he had made his decision. "No," he stated simply, "I _won't_ listen to you tell me how happy you are now that Potter's back. I don't need to hear it. I saw it plainly enough yesterday, and frankly, I'm glad." He mentally steeled himself for he knew her reaction was going to be, "because now I won't feel guilty for walking away."

Even his mental preparation was inadequate for the stricken look that immediately commanded her features.

"Wal…walking away?" she stuttered.

He clenched his jaw again. "There isn't…my life is…It's just better for both of us we aren't close. I'm going to take my mother away where we won't be reminded of my father. It'll be better for you to just forget me. You have Potter now, so you won't be alone, and you don't need me around reminding you of my father, laying all of _my_ shit on you as well." He turned to walk away.

Ginny was just angry enough to let him go. When he was halfway across the hall she screamed. She didn't scream at him, she just screamed. He hesitated in his step, torn between running back to her to apologize and ease her pain and continuing, convinced it really was for the best. He never would be able to get along with Potter, after all, and he'd never be able to accept her being with anyone else, _especially_ Potter.

Harry had been in the Great Hall and had heard Ginny scream. He hurried to her side, taking one quick look at Draco's retreating back, and asked her if she was okay.

"No," she answered honestly, still staring after Draco, "but I will be."

"Come on, Gin," Harry reached up to her shoulder and tried to guide her away, "maybe you should just let him go."

She clenched her jaw and balled her fists. "You know, I probably should, but I just can't. At least, not without having _my_ say." She stormed after the object of wrath.

He had stopped just around the corner and was pacing back and forth in agitation. It was taking all of his strength not to go back to her and he didn't notice her approach.

She saw him ball his fist, saw his shoulder tense and his fist come up, and she knew what he was going to do, the fucking moron. Without thinking, she moved and got in his way. The part of her brain that controlled her actions knew that he wouldn't see her in time to stop and she braced herself.

All of his pent up frustration went into his arm, into his fist, and he turned to release it into the wall. At the last possible second he noticed the flash of red and tried to stop. It was too late, his brain had already thrown the punch.

He stood over her in shock. Harry rushed to her side and helped her to her feet. She gasped to recover the breath he had knocked out of her.

"Why the hell would you do that!" he demanded loudly.

She glared at him. Voice still breathy and hands holding her stomache where she had been punched, she answered him coldly, "Because I fucking care! Though I don't know why! What the hell, Draco Malfoy?! _Harry_ is in love with _Hermione_! That is what I wanted to tell you! _I_ am in love with _you_! _That_ is what I wanted to tell you! But bloody fucking hell! If you're going to do the same damn thing to me that Harry did," she ignored Harry's wince, "the same thing you found me crying over, the same thing you called me a _fool_ to cry over…maybe I'll just take your bloody advice and count myself better off. You better believe I'll cry for your father before I'll cry for you." With that she turned and walked away with a stately grace unbelievable for one just punched in the stomache.

Harry looked at Malfoy. "You may not believe this," he said simply, "but her brother _hoped_ you would get to her, get close to her in a way no one has since that damn diary. He figured that only someone as closed off as she is _could_ get through to her. He figured that you were just about right for her and if you could fall in love with her she'd never have to worry, that you were a bloke a guy could trust with his sister if he could just know the love was real. He figured that if Ginny could believe your love was real than it must be. Don't be a fool, Malfoy." He, too, walked away, but as Ginny had gone outside, he headed back into the Great Hall.

Malfoy stood there, staring at the wall, for a long while. Finally, when he couldn't take anymore, he ran as fast as he could out the great front doors and across the grounds. It didn't take him long to find her. She was kneeling in the same spot he had found her kneeling a month before.

He dropped to his knees in front of her. Looking her straight in the eye, he opened his mouth to speak but couldn't find the words.

She just stared at him, waiting. Her eyes were dry and that, for some reason that bit him worse than tears would have.

She sighed and shifted as though she was about to get up and leave.

Impulsively, for his mind could come up with nothing else, he leaned in and kissed her. He brought his hand up to the back of her head and touched her cheek with the other. She resisted at first, still angry and still hurt, but it didn't take long for her to relax into it. She crawled closer to him without breaking the kiss, bringing her hands up to his shoulders.

When they finally pulled apart, she rested her head on his shoulder and twisted her hips so she could sit on his lap. "Does this mean you won't be walking away?" she asked quietly.

"How can I?" he asked, "When you have my heart?"


	5. Epilogue

If Draco Malfoy had one weakness, it was his wife's smile. Well, that and his daughter's eyes. Anything that would bring a smile their faces and light their eyes he would break his back doing.

They lived in a home of their own, not far from the Burrow. Narcissa had moved in with the Weasleys, welcome company for Molly now that her nest was empty. Hermione and Harry also had a place not too far away and a small family of their own.

Not one of them would have dreamed that things would turn out the way they did, but they were all happy with the arrangement.

When Ginny approached Draco one evening and sat gently on his lap, he knew she had something important to tell him. He did not, however, expect to hear that he was about to have a son. He pulled his wife to him in tight embrace and mumbled into her hair, "We can call him Ron, if you would like."


End file.
